


A Modest Proposal

by hapakitsune



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Halamshiral, Light BDSM, M/M, Multi, Polyamory, Polyamory Negotiations, Threesome - M/M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-10
Updated: 2015-07-10
Packaged: 2018-04-08 14:25:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4308588
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hapakitsune/pseuds/hapakitsune
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cullen is surprised by Dorian and the Iron Bull's offer, but, as it turns out, surprisingly amenable.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Modest Proposal

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Princess_Aleera](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Princess_Aleera/gifts).



> I desperately wanted to make a "what happens in Halamshiral stays in Halamshiral" joke at some point but didn't get it to work. I also wanted to title it "How Cullen Rutherford Got His Groove Back" but my better instincts prevailed.
> 
> This was written for fandom aid, and is my first gander at canon-based Dragon Age fic. Naturally I wrote porn. Thanks to eirene for taking a look at it for me; any remaining mistakes are of course my own. 
> 
> As this involves the Iron Bull, there are some (very light) elements of BDSM at play in this fic. This also has spoilers up through, obviously, the events of Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts.

“You know,” Dorian said in a low drawl, “I think that’s the most clothes I’ve ever seen you wear.”

Cullen closed his eyes in despair as the Iron Bull laughed, low and suggestive, from behind him. He respected the Inquisitor, he truly did, but her taste in friends, well. Sometimes he had questions. 

“You can’t expect him to hide that impressive physique all the time,” the Inquisitor said brightly, and the Iron Bull laughed louder at that. Cullen groaned and palmed his face. 

“Problem, Commander?” Dorian asked silkily. “You look ill.”

“Let’s just get this over with, shall we?” Cullen said grimly, dropping his hand and turning to glare at the imposing bulk of the Winter Palace. Josephine was already in the ballroom, Leliana waiting just inside the gates, and the rest of them – the Inquisitor, Dorian, the Iron Bull, Cassandra, and Cullen – waffling outside because the Inquisitor wanted to be sure her sash was straight. Cullen was ready to march inside – rip off the scab, so to speak – and get through this whole dreadful night as best they could.

“Are you frightened, Commander?” Dorian asked. 

“I bloody hate balls,” Cullen said. 

“Shame,” Dorian said, and Cullen knew without looking that Dorian was smirking. “I had a few in –”

“Dorian!” Cassandra said, horrified. Cullen could have kissed her. 

“All right,” the Inquisitor said, straightening herself up to her full height, though she still did not come up to Cullen’s shoulder. “Shall we?”

Inside the palace was the usual Orlesian nonsense, masks and all. The Inquisitor seemed charmingly fascinated by it all, looking around with wide eyes. Of course, Cullen thought; she would have had little reason to see Orlesians in their absurd finery unless she had been hired as protection for one of the young nobles. Leliana had taken to her side to give her whispered instructions, so Cullen left them to it and took up his post along the side of the ballroom to observe the comings and goings. 

It was dreadful. Cullen had known it would be, but it had not occurred to him that he would be seen as a fine prospect by the Court Mamas, who wished to marry him to their daughters – “Or sons, _cheri_ , we are quite understanding of that as well.” The Inquisitor, damn her, seemed to find the whole thing quite amusing. Cullen was comforted by the fact that Cassandra looked about as uncomfortable as he did, constantly reaching to her side like she was expecting to find her sword there. 

The Inquisitor swanned in and out, trailing Dorian, the Iron Bull, and Cassandra in her wake. From time to time one of them managed to actually tell him where they were going – “There’s something wrong in the servants’ quarters, be back in a tick!” the Inquisitor whispered – but mostly they just greeted him with casual ease, like they weren’t frantically hunting an assassin through the palace halls. 

The third time they emerged unexpectedly from a side passage, Dorian was limping slightly and arguing in an undertone with the Iron Bull before straightening and allowing him to look at his side. Watching them, Cullen was struck with a pang of envy. They had the casual intimacy of people who had grown to respect each other in addition to sharing a bed – which despite Dorian’s best efforts had become common knowledge around Skyhold – and Cullen hadn’t felt that in what felt like an age. Certainly he hadn’t since before the Inquisition, or before the end in Kirkwall. 

Cullen had been made privy to the nature of Dorian and the Iron Bull’s relationship by complete accident. He had merely been seeking out a word with the Iron Bull regarding deployment of the Chargers and had knocked on the door to his private chambers one evening after dinner. Upon finding it open, he had stepped inside, called for the Iron Bull, and was immediately greeted with the sight of Dorian draped over the Iron Bull’s bare chest, slumbering peacefully. 

The Iron Bull, never one for shame or modesty, had just lifted his finger to his mouth and whispered, “He’s a deep sleeper, Commander, but I’ve learned the hard way it’s bad to wake him when he isn’t expecting it.”

And that, perhaps, had been worse than if Cullen had walked in on them _in flagrante_. It was one thing to know they were having sex, since it seemed half Skyhold was engaged in some kind of mutually beneficial arrangement, but another to see that kind of affection up close. He found himself – wanting. 

Wanting what or who, he could not say. He found himself watching Dorian and the Iron Bull more often than he should, wondering how they found time to themselves amidst the excursions to the Hinterlands and the Storm Coast. They had started out at each other’s throats, or seemingly so, and had gone from antagonizing each other over religions, countries, and anything in between to cheerfully bantering as they trailed after the Inquisitor. It was almost awe-inspiring. 

The ball dragged on and on, seemingly forever, and Cullen began to worry that they wouldn’t be able to get there in time, that the Inquisitor wouldn’t figure out who the assassin was before the Empress was killed in front of all of Orlais’s nobility. Every now and then he would see a flicker of Dorian’s hair or the flash of the Inquisitor’s coat before they vanished again, usually at a run. 

Then the Inquisitor came bursting through the doors, arrested Duchess Florianne, and the Empire of Orlais turned on its head. 

In the chaos that followed the Duchess being escorted from the ballroom, Cullen managed to wriggle free from the nobles around him and went to ask Cassandra what, exactly, they had found in the depths of the palace. During the very long explanation that followed, he saw Dorian and the Iron Bull slip out to one of the balconies, and the Inquisitor and Josephine return from another, hand in hand. He blinked, startled, and looked to Cassandra. 

“How long has _that_ been going on?” he asked her. 

Cassandra looked decidedly unimpressed with him. “Several months at least,” she said. “Really, Commander, I thought you would have noticed Leliana teasing them about it, at the very least.”

Suddenly, several of the war room conversations made a lot more sense. He watched as the Inquisitor bowed ostentatiously to Josephine, held out her hand, and swept her off into a dance. Cassandra snorted, though she sounded rather fond. It was a little alarming that Cullen could now tell the difference between Cassandra’s snorts. 

He stepped out on the balcony for some fresh air, at last able to lower his guard a little now that the height of the crisis had passed. He nearly turned around when he saw the familiar shapes of Dorian and the Iron Bull leaning on the banister, but Dorian beckoned him over. 

“Commander,” he said as Cullen approached. He had a wine glass in his hand and a smirk beneath his mustache, looking pleased as a cat with a bowl of cream. “Why so glum? We’ve saved the Empire!”

“I just wanted a bit of air,” Cullen said. “If you’d like some privacy –”

“Oh not at all, right, Bull?” Dorian asked, looking up at the Iron Bull, who grinned lazily. 

“Always good to see the Commander,” he said. “Join us. Might do you good.”

Cullen, to his mild dismay, found himself wedged between the two of them, the Iron Bull’s huge bulk to his right, Dorian’s surprisingly solid build to his left. For all he spent most of his time in Skyhold’s library, Dorian looked like one of Cullen’s shoulders, which he was sure to show off with his shoulder-baring clothes despite Skyhold’s rather intemperate weather. The one time Cullen had asked Dorian if he’d like to join the morning exercises, though, Dorian had given a great shudder and said he would be sleeping, thank you very much.

“Those Tevinter bastards did a real number on the servants’ quarters,” the Iron Bull was saying to Dorian when Cullen started paying attention again. “I hope the Empress remembers to do something for them too.”

“Indeed.” Dorian lifted his glass to his lips and eyed Cullen over the top of it. “And you, Commander? Do you still think His Grace would have been the better ruler?”

Cullen felt both of their eyes upon him and tried not to fidget. He did not often feel his comparative youth among the Inquisition, but occasionally the Iron Bull made him feel as though he knew very little despite the more than ten years of service he had under his belt by now. “I think for our purposes, yes, he might have been more advantageous,” he said. “But it is important that Orlais is stable, and with Ambassador Briala guiding her, Empress Celene will be a very valuable ally.”

“So yes,” the Iron Bull said, grinning. “Told you. You owe me ten sovereigns.”

Dorian grumbled, but produced a small handful of coins from his pockets and passed them over, reaching past Cullen to do so. Cullen watched the exchange in bafflement. “You _wagered_ on that?”

“We have a running list of wagers a mile long,” the Iron Bull said cheerfully. “I think Varric has them written down somewhere.” 

“Leliana has been disqualified from playing,” Dorian put in. “She knows too much.”

“He’s just upset because she won the pool on when he would seduce me,” the Iron Bull said. 

“ _Me_ seduce _you_? _I_ was not the one spouting filthy innuendo in the middle of the Western Approach,” Dorian said. 

“In the middle of – never mind, I’m sure I don’t want to know.” Cullen sighed and leaned back, tilting his head back to look up at the stars. “I suppose it’s harmless enough. Maker knows we could all use something to lift our spirits.”

“You’re too hard on yourself, Commander,” the Iron Bull said. “Things aren’t as grim as you think, which you might know if you ever came down from that tower.”

“The Inquisitor told me you even have a bed in there,” Dorian said, leer audible in his voice. “True? Or scandalous falsehood?”

“I’m afraid it’s true,” Cullen said. “Disappointed?”

“You Templars are all alike,” the Iron Bull said. “Yeah, I know you aren’t one anymore,” he added, catching Cullen’s look. “But once a Templar, always a Templar. None of you know how to take a break.”

“There’s a lot to do,” Cullen said. “There are reports to read and scouts to send out, not to mention the mission reports –”

“Ugh, I can’t listen to you talk about work,” Dorian said. “Drink this.” He shoved his glass into Cullen’s hand. “I’m going to get another one. Bull?”

“Whatever looks the most lethal,” the Iron Bull said lazily. Dorian disappeared back inside the ballroom. The Iron Bull watched him go with a fond expression. “He complains more than anyone I’ve ever met.”

“And you love him,” Cullen said. The Iron Bull raises his eyebrow. “What? Don’t you?”

“Under the Qun, we don’t have the same concept of love as you,” the Iron Bull said. “But yes. I do.” He smiled. “Does that surprise you?”

“A little,” Cullen admitted. “I would not have thought that it could work between you two.”

“Neither did I,” the Iron Bull said. “Dorian’s stubborn, though, once he’s got an idea in his head. Or anything else in his –”

Cullen hastily interrupted the Iron Bull. “And you?”

“I’m pretty stubborn too,” the Iron Bull said. He smiled again, slowly. “He likes you, you know.”

“I – I’m not going to –”

“Oh, I’m not worried about you stealing him,” the Iron Bull said. “I’m asking if you’d be interested in joining us.”

Cullen choked on his second sip of wine and coughed for so long that Dorian returned before he had fully recovered and said, “You asked him already, didn’t you. This is why I said _I_ should broach the subject.” 

“I saw an opportunity,” the Iron Bull said unrepentantly. 

“My apologies, Commander,” Dorian said, reaching past Cullen to give the Iron Bull a glass of something that smelled like it could strip the paint off the walls. “Bull doesn’t believe in subtle flirtation.”

“What’s the point?” the Iron Bull agreed. “If you want to fuck someone, you ask if they’re interested. Doesn’t seem that hard to me.”

“Mm.” Dorian sipped his wine and looked at Cullen with a curiously neutral expression. “So?”

“I – excuse me,” Cullen said. “I should see if the Inquisitor needs anything, um.” Dorian and the Iron Bull were giving him identical knowing looks. “Goodbye,” he said hastily, and he fled back inside the ballroom. 

“Is it the red?” he asks Cassandra and Leliana when he finds them. “Is that why I’ve been propositioned fifty-odd times tonight?”

Leliana gave him a pitying look. “Oh, Cullen. You poor thing.” Then her gaze grew calculating and she said, “But who has been propositioning you? We might be able to turn that to our advantage.”

“We are not using the Commander of the Inquisition as – as bait,” Cassandra said indignantly. 

“No, of course not,” Leliana said. “Just the promise of him.”

“Maker,” Cullen said, and he flagged down a waiter to get another glass of wine. Surely he could allow himself that tonight of all nights. 

 

The Inquisition delegation was quartered in a home owned by one of Josephine’s family, a huge mansion that made Cullen feel rather dowdy just looking at it. Cassandra, Leliana, and Dorian barely seemed to notice its vastness, but Cullen was gratified to see that the Inquisitor looked just as awed as he felt. 

“Stone,” she said in amazement. “And this is a _house_?”

“Apparently,” Cullen said. The Inquisitor glanced toward Josephine, who was speaking quietly with someone who looked as though he might work for the family, and then up at Cullen. 

“She really is above me, isn’t she?” she said quietly. “I suppose I knew that, but it’s quite different to see it so plainly.”

“You’re the Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition,” Cullen said. “You may not be her equal in birth, but you are her equal in everything else. And besides – if she loves you, does it really matter?”

The Inquisitor raised her eyebrows. “Why, Commander,” she said. “I didn’t know you were a romantic.”

“It’s been a long night,” Cullen said. 

The Inquisitor dimpled, eyes bright. “Well,” she said. “That it has. And on that note, I think I shall retire to bed.” She gave him a cheery little wave before going to take Josephine’s hand, smile radiant. Josephine looked just as pleased to see her. 

“Ah,” said Dorian. “Young love.” 

Cullen turned to see Dorian watching them. “You’re hardly older than them,” he pointed out. 

“Yes, well,” Dorian said vaguely. “It’s a matter of mindset.”

The Iron Bull looked about as convinced by this as Cullen. He stretched his arms over his head, the velvet of his suit stretching obscenely against his huge chest and forearms, and said, “Looking forward to getting this off.”

“Me too,” Dorian said. “Maker, these are ugly. Though it looks rather fetching on you, Commander, I must say.”

“Leave him alone, Dorian,” the Iron Bull said, hooking one massive hand around Dorian’s waist and herding him toward the stairs. “If he isn’t interested, he isn’t interested.”

If only it were that simple, Cullen thought bleakly as he watched them ascend to the second level. It would be much easier if he were just that – uninterested. But to his own surprise, he _was_ interested. Fascinated, really, and curious. 

The Inquisitor had a knack for making strange friends, and Cullen would be the first to admit he’d had reservations when she had brought first the Iron Bull and then Dorian into the Inquisition’s fold. The Iron Bull he had at least heard of, and Krem was a solid, reliable type, but Dorian – he was Tevinter, and kind of abrasive, to boot. And attractive, of course, and well aware that he cut a striking figure. For the first little while after Dorian had joined them at Haven, Cullen had been put off by his drawl and his vanity. And then he had realized that Dorian was frightened, and lonely. 

The Iron Bull had clearly noticed as well. And that was something Cullen envied, the Iron Bull’s ability to notice things about the people around him. Cullen did his best to call everyone by name and know something about them, but there were so many people at Skyhold now and he had so little time. The Iron Bull knew everyone, it seemed, knew about their families and why they had joined the Inquisition, and more than that, he cared. He pretended he didn’t, but Cullen knew he did, even if he hadn’t seen how broken the Iron Bull had been over the Qunari demanding he choose between his country and his men. The Iron Bull would kill or die for those he loved, and that alone made him attractive to Cullen. 

It was an odd feeling, realizing he was attracted to them. Cullen had never been particularly attracted to men before, though in general his romantic and sexual experience had been limited by his duties. What was stranger still was that they, apparently, were attracted to him too, enough that they might invite him to their bed. 

With the wine warming him and danger of the ball passed, Cullen was able to admit to himself that part of him had been tempted to say yes when the Iron Bull had brought up the subject. But then he recalled the way Dorian had looked, asleep on the Iron Bull’s chest, and the idea of being close enough to that without being allowed to be part of that intimacy was painful enough that he told himself it could not be. He was not like others who could separate sex and affection so easily. It was better not to let himself think on it, lest he get caught up in dreaming of impossible things.

 

When at last they returned to Skyhold, the Lady Morrigan in tow, who set both Cullen and Leliana’s teeth on edge, things returned to whatever passed for normal in the Inquisition. The Inquisitor breezed in and out on her way to various places to close rifts, kill dragons, and take down Venatori strongholds. Cullen was sure that her mission reports were exaggerated. Not that he could prove it, since Sera backed up anything she said and Blackwall just stared at him and Cassandra looked like she wanted to stab something, though admittedly that was how she usually looked. 

Morrigan looked like Cullen remembered from Ferelden, unchanged by the years save for the fact that she now had a son who much resembled her. She said little to Cullen, but he had no doubt she remembered him from the Circle Tower. Perhaps she recalled his request to purge the tower of the mages, and resented him for it. Cullen thought more often than he liked about that, about how afraid he had been. He had been just nineteen, but that was little excuse for asking the Hero of Ferelden to commit murder, sight unseen. 

Morrigan brought with her memories of those horrible days in the tower, surrounded by demons and terrified of death. Of attending Harrowings knowing he might be asked to kill someone he had seen every day for months, whose face he knew as well as his sister’s. His sleep became patchier, and he thought often, longingly, of lyrium, of its power singing through his veins. Only his promise to himself and the Inquisitor kept him from reaching for the box that sat in his desk drawer as a silent test of his own willpower.

Cullen took to pacing the walls at night when he was unable to sleep. From there, he could see all of Skyhold’s comings and goings, the light pouring out of Herald’s Rest as people went inside to participate in drinking or games or whatever contests had been arranged by Leliana and Josephine. Sometimes he saw Dorian and the Iron Bull emerging from the doors, not hand-in-hand but close enough together that no one could mistake their relationship. If no one was around in the courtyard, Dorian would sometimes push the Iron Bull into a dark corner, where Cullen couldn’t see them. 

But he could imagine. 

As the Inquisition readied itself to meet with Corypheus’s forces in the Arbor Wilds, Cullen took to roaming the grounds in their entirety until he was worn out enough to get a few meager hours of sleep before he was awoken by another messenger with another report from the mages or the Grey Wardens or Ambassador Briala. One night, still restless after walking seemingly every inch of Skyhold, he ventured inside Herald’s Rest and bought himself a pint. 

“Are you sure that’s a good idea?” asked an amused voice to his left. He looked and saw Krem leaning against the bar, not wearing his armor for once. “Chief tells me you’re not so good at holding your liquor.”

“Varric cheats at Wicked Grace,” Cullen said. 

“I’m sure he does,” Krem said. “You need to cheat better.”

“I don’t think I’ll be playing cards any time soon,” Cullen said. “But I’ll consider that advice.”

“Really?” Krem cocked his head. “Then maybe you’ll consider this: take a break every now and then.”

“Excuse me?”

“When we joined the Inquisition, you were a strapping figure of a man,” Krem said, grinning. “Now I can practically count your ribs through your armor. You’re running yourself ragged, and you won’t be any good to the Inquisition like that.”

“So what are you suggesting?” Cullen asked. 

“That you take some time to yourself. And I don’t mean prowling the walls,” Krem added when Cullen opened his mouth. “Did you think no one noticed?”

And, well, Cullen knew the guards standing watch must have noticed, but he had rather hoped that they hadn’t thought much of it. He was a bit dismayed to realize that they were gossiping about him. Not even out of malice, apparently, but out of concern. “Do you have anything specific in mind?”

Krem shrugged. “Have a drink every few nights. Play chess with Dorian or Solas. Ask Chief or Cassandra to spar with you. The Inquisitor is apparently learning how to make cookies.”

“Maker,” Cullen said. “Didn’t she learn from the cake disaster of Josephine’s birthday?”

“Apparently not.” Krem clapped Cullen on the shoulder. “Think about it, Commander? The people of the Inquisition care about you. Some more than others, of course.” And Cullen’s face flamed as Krem inclined his head none-too-subtly in the direction of Dorian and the Iron Bull. Dorian was, somewhat surprisingly, sitting on the Iron Bull’s lap, conjuring tiny butterflies onto his fingertips to the oohs and ahhs of those around them. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Cullen said. Krem laughed and shook his head. 

“All right, Commander,” he said. “Enjoy your ale.” He lifted his own glass in salute and excused himself from the bar. Cullen managed not to look over his shoulder until he had finished half his pint. When he did, he found the Iron Bull’s gaze on him. Cullen quickly turned away and drank the rest of his ale so quickly his stomach protested. 

His sleep that night was once again plagued by dreams, but instead of the Circle Tower, he dreamed of Dorian, and the Iron Bull, and what might have happened if he had accepted their offer in Halamshiral. 

 

It took him several days to gather the nerve to approach the Iron Bull and Dorian at Herald’s Rest. The Iron Bull was lounging in his customary seat by the far wall, Dorian leaning against his shoulder with a very full glass of wine in his hand. They both looked up when Cullen came in the door and watched him as he walked towards them, hands locked behind his back like he was a new recruit. 

“Good evening,” he said, and then he ran out of words to say.

Dorian quirked his eyebrow. “Good evening, Commander,” he said. “Do you need to speak to Bull? I’m sure I can find someone else to lean on.”

“No, I wanted to speak to both of you,” Cullen said. “I, um.” Dorian straightened up, glancing down to the Iron Bull, who had not taken his eye off Cullen since he walked in. “I’m interested. If what you proposed in Halamashiral is still – proposed.”

Dorian and the Iron Bull exchanged looks, then turned identical smiles on Cullen. “Yes,” they said in unison. 

“Oh,” Cullen said weakly. “Um. All right.”

Dorian set his glass down and said, “We should, I think, retire if you would like to discuss this now.” 

They went to the Iron Bull’s quarters, Cullen convinced the entire time that everyone they pass knew exactly where they were going and why. Once inside, Dorian did something to the door with his staff before setting it gently against the wall. He looked to the Iron Bull, nodded, and took a seat on the edge of the bed to start unlacing his boots. 

“If we’re going to do this,” the Iron Bull said, stepping toward Cullen, “you need to tell us if there’s anything you’re uncomfortable with. Dorian has a watchword –”

“Maleficar,” put in Dorian. 

“And mine is katoh,” the Iron Bull said. “If you say it, everything stops. No matter what.” 

“You don’t have to be comfortable with everything we are,” Dorian said. “We won’t hold it against you.”

Cullen realized his hands were clenched into fists. He took a deep breath and said, “My word will be harrowing.” He heard Dorian make a small sound, but he didn’t dare look, too focused on the Iron Bull’s calm gaze.

“Very well,” the Iron Bull said. “I’m going to kiss you now, Cullen.”

Cullen shivered at the sound of his given name and found his eyes drifting shut as the Iron Bull drew close. He smelled musky and earthy, like the outdoors, and he radiated heat like a fire. One of the Iron Bull’s large hands came to rest at the back of his head, tilting him to the best angle, and then they were kissing, surprisingly chaste. Still, Cullen pressed in closer, hands finding a place to rest on the Iron Bull’s vast chest. 

“My, but you do make a pretty picture,” Dorian said when they broke for air. “I believe it’s my turn now.”

The Iron Bull smirked, stroking Cullen’s neck, clawed thumb just grazing underneath his jaw, near his pulse. “Be nice,” he said before releasing Cullen and letting Dorian take over. 

Dorian’s kiss was predictably filthy, his hands drifting down to Cullen’s ass to grope shamelessly as he took Cullen’s mouth like he was conquering a country. Cullen’s knees went weak, his grip slipping against Dorian’s silky clothes before he found purchase on Dorian’s arms, and he gasped when Dorian nipped lightly at his lower lip. 

“Mm,” Dorian purred. He dragged his teeth along Cullen’s jaw and smiled. “I think you’ll do rather nicely.”

Then they were going through the awkward stage of divesting themselves of their clothes. Cullen was goose-pimpled all over by the time he was fully naked. The Iron Bull was the last to finish undressing, taking a moment to rub at his knee once he had removed his leg brace, and Dorian rested a hand on his shoulder, looking concerned. 

“It’s all right,” the Iron Bull said. “He fusses like a maiden aunt,” he told Cullen. 

“I do _not_ ,” Dorian said, and then, “Oh!” as the Iron Bull pulled him into his lap. He looped his arms around the Iron Bull’s neck, careful of his horns, and leaned in to kiss him. 

They made an arresting picture with Dorian’s golden skin contrasted against the Iron Bull’s pale grey. The way they kissed, too, was beautiful to watch. They knew each other so well and it showed in how they touched without hesitation. Cullen started to look away, then remembered he was allowed to watch and looked instead at Dorian’s bare back, at the spread of his legs over the Iron Bull’s thighs, and stepped in to kiss Dorian’s neck. 

Had Cullen allowed himself to imagine this in depth, he could not have dreamed of how simple it really was, even with three sets of limbs and the Iron Bull’s horns to consider. Dorian and the Iron Bull were so accustomed to each other that they knew how to get Cullen arranged between them, but they weren’t pushy, either. When Cullen tentatively went to his knees to take the Iron Bull in his hand, Dorian murmured instructions in his ear and ran a soothing hand down Cullen’s neck. It was a strange thing, holding another man’s cock, and the Iron Bull was no ordinary man, huge as he was. Yet Cullen was not frightened by his size. He was instead gratified by the trust they showed, and how he could wring pleasure from the Iron Bull with his touch. It seemed almost like magic. 

The Iron Bull came with a loud grunt, spilling over Cullen’s hand, and then he pulled Cullen up for a kiss, holding his arms in place with a strong grip. “Dorian,” he said over Cullen’s shoulders, “would you like to fuck the Commander’s thighs?”

“Oh, yes,” Dorian said. “But does he wish it?”

“Yes,” Cullen said, dizzy with arousal at the thought. “He does.”

“Ah, then –” And Dorian was plastering himself against Cullen’s back, wrapping his arms around Cullen’s waist to hold him in place. Though he knew it was, comparatively, hardly anything, Cullen could not help but feel laid bare as Dorian kissed his shoulders and pushed between his thighs, the head of his cock pressing against Cullen’s balls. Cullen never thought he would want to be fucked, but now he could imagine how it might feel to be exposed like that, and the idea was thrilling. 

With each of Dorian’s thrusts, Cullen was pushed up against the Iron Bull, his cock rubbing against his thigh. It was almost – _almost_ – enough, and by the time Dorian came between Cullen’s legs, dripping messily down his skin, Cullen was squirming in the Iron Bull’s grip, desperate for something, _anything_ more. 

“You’ve made a mess,” the Iron Bull said to Dorian, mildly. “Are you going to clean that up?” He kissed Cullen’s forehead and cheek. “Can he clean you up, Cullen?”

Cullen nodded. The Iron Bull backed up to the bed and sat, legs spread wide, and settled Cullen between them. Though his cock was softened now, Cullen could feel it against his back, like a promise, and he shuddered as Dorian knelt on the ground, smirking. 

“Yes, amatus,” Dorian said before lifting one of Cullen’s legs by the foot and dragging his tongue up from the ankle. Cullen shuddered, straining forward, but one of the Iron Bull’s arms wrapped around his chest to hold him in place, and Cullen was at their exquisite mercy. 

Dorian took his time, seeming to take pleasure in the groans Cullen couldn’t keep in, licking up his own come from Cullen’s thighs and hips, carefully avoiding Cullen’s cock and balls until Cullen was trying, unsuccessfully, to thrust up. The Iron Bull chuckled, chest rumbling against Cullen’s back. 

“Take pity on him, kadan,” he said. “Let him see how talented your mouth is.”

And finally, _finally_ Dorian took Cullen in his mouth, and Cullen let out a cry. He probably blasphemed, too, but he was too far gone to notice, consumed by pleasure and for once not thinking about his responsibilities. The Iron Bull tilted his head back for a kiss, swallowing Cullen’s moan of release, and Cullen shook through the first orgasm he’d had in what felt like an age. 

He was drowsy after and hardly noticed the Iron Bull putting him to bed, nor the whispered conversation Dorian and the Iron Bull had as he drifted off to sleep. He did not fear his dreams. 

 

When Cullen woke, it was to the smell of food. He blinked up at the ceiling and realized all at once that he had spent the night in the Iron Bull’s quarters. He sat up quickly and saw Dorian still asleep beside him, looking oddly young in sleep. The Iron Bull was seated at the small, round table by the door with a plate of food in front of him. There were two others sitting out, along with what looked like teapot. 

“Breakfast?” Cullen asked, voice hoarse with sleep. 

“It was my turn,” the Iron Bull said. 

“People are probably trying to guess why you asked for three plates,” Dorian muttered, startling Cullen so much he nearly fell off the bed. Dorian opened his eyes to squint at Cullen. “I can’t believe you look that gorgeous after waking up. You disgust me.”

“Vain as a peacock,” the Iron Bull said. “Come on, Commander. I fixed you a nice plate.”

Cullen, conscious of his nakedness, rescued his smallclothes from the floor and came to sit in one of the vacant chairs. As soon as he had, his appetite made itself known, and he tucked into the plate of sausages and vegetables with abandon. Dorian managed to drag himself to the table before Cullen had finished eating, though he didn’t bother putting on clothes. He caught Cullen looking at him and winked before pouring himself a cup of tea. 

“It’ll be your turn next,” Dorian said, picking up his fork. “I just had mine.”

“And Dorian hates his turn,” the Iron Bull said. 

“Next?” Cullen asked, pausing. “You mean – again?”

Dorian and the Iron Bull looked at each other, then at Cullen. “Maker,” Dorian said. “Did you think we were asking you to our bed for only a night of fun?” 

“Not that it wasn’t,” the Iron Bull said. 

“Oh yes,” Dorian agreed. “Such fun.” He reached over to put his hand on Cullen’s high, rather higher up than would be acceptable in public. “My dear Commander, we are asking you to share us. Or us to share you. For as long as we are all –” Here he smiled, catlike again. “Interested.”

Cullen looked from Dorian to the Iron Bull, half-expecting Sera to burst from the wardrobe and announce that this was all a new, brilliant prank. “You’re serious.”

“As a Chantry mother,” Dorian said. 

“I – well,” Cullen said. “I think, well, I quite, um, enjoyed – yes. My answer is yes.”

“Wonderful.” Dorian leaned over to peck Cullen on the mouth. “Bull, kiss him for me. I need to finish eating.”

“Gladly,” the Iron Bull said, and he pulled Cullen halfway into his lap to kiss him so thoroughly that, in the end, breakfast was quite forgotten. 

 

What with one thing and another, Cullen did not end up leaving the Iron Bull’s quarters until well after he was normally at work. A few people gave him startled looks as he passed, and he realized, as he passed a grinning Krem, that he was smiling. 

“Have a good night, Commander?” Krem called, voice dripping with suggestion. 

“I’ll speak to you later, Lieutenant,” Cullen said, before heading up the stairs into Skyhold, where the Inquisitor awaited. She smiled when she saw him, took his arm in hers, and led him down towards the war room. 

“So tell me,” she said in a hushed whisper. “Is the Iron Bull as big as I think he is? Dorian won’t tell me.”

“Inquisitor!” Cullen gasped, yanking his arm away from her. She grinned at him and took off at a run toward the war room. 

“Just so you know,” she called over her shoulder, “I think Cassandra won that bet.”

“Bet?” Cullen asked. “Inquisitor!” 

But she was inside the door, and Cullen, after a moment of thought, decided he’d really rather not know. Besides, he thought as he opened the door to join the meeting, it was really he who had won something; and today he didn’t feel inclined to be bothered by anything.


End file.
